Commander Valinor

Black armoured soldiers stood in still rows that stretched the length of eyesight. Unmoving like ebony carved statues before the smoking ruins of Theed. Arrayed were the legions, the pride of and glory of the Armed Forces of the galactic rim, battalion after battalion arrayed below fluttering red and black banners. All eyes towards the pile of rubble that had once been the royal throne rooms. They were the Felix Legions. Once the knife that had severed the throat of Onderon, plunged into the forests of Kashyyyk, the fire itself that had ruined Carida. They had their duty to uphold in the coming battle, and their commander was confident that they would play their part well. For there was only one way to open a tear. To plant a seed of destruction that could carry its fruit through the peace and into the next great war. They needed no great speech, and they expected none from their shadowed commander. They knew their duty. They would plant the seed and water it deep with the blood of the Rebel Capital world. They would be the sower of the seed that would bring their destruction back to life in the next generation. For it would be massacre, it would be destruction, It would be Vengeance.

So the Lady of Sorrows draws forth her council from the grave The Felix Legions dropped like Valkyries from the sky, following the streams of turbolasers into the burning ruins of Theed. Where once there were granite walkways, there was now only burning slag. The planet would burn, a vengeance for the death of a Dark Lord. A vengeance for a kingdom denied. For even in their defeat the Sith would bring a ruin that generations would dare not speak of. And the Sith were still in the noontide of their power.

“Give us a full name check Talia. I’ll take it from here. We’ll see if the bastard knows anything.” The overconfident officer of the Sith Security Bureau clicked off her ear mic before she walked through the doors to where the wounded unknown lay. She would trust the two behind the reflective screen to feed her data should she need it. But she was just as good at extracting information as a computer. She grabbed a cup of water from the cistern beside the wall and strode confidently towards the subject. Sure the water actually contained some Quinuclidinyl benzilate and some sweetener. But it was always a gesture that Jedi or Rebels found disarming. __________________________ Inside, the datapad buzzed under fingers as Talia selected the large repository file from the old archival database and dragged it onto the main screen. It was a large file and one marked as encrypted. The Interrogator entered her password and held the scanner up to a grey irised eye. There was an accompanying buzz in her hand which marked the file as able to be opened. Old files began to populate, marked by the old Imperial and old Sith Empire symbol, the last of the files entered more than a decade before by the now defunct Galactic Alliance Security Bureau. She frowned and looked at the other officer in the room who was in turn looking at the junior officer who stood beside the subject. “Are you sure the DNA we scanned was the subjects?” The Arkanian turned a very tired eye towards her and simply nodded. “Can’t fake cerebral spinal fluid Talia. You know that.” She nodded, cowed for a moment, before she looked back to her screen. “Spast.” She flipped the red switch on the wall and the arkanian jumped up from his seat. “Force user?” She nodded and set the datapad down. “Get the on duty officer here now. We have a class three force user in containment.” The Arkanian nodded and slapped another button on his own datapad as she gulped down her fear looked through the one way glass at the curled up homeless looking individual. A ghost of the old galaxy. A member of the old ruling order. And someone that could crush the two of them without a thought. It was time to summon those specialized in containing force users. Even if this one turned out to be friendly. But the interrogators would do what they could to contain the threat as they waited. For now, the officer inside, was utterly alone. So she straightened her uniform and set the glass of water beside the subject before sitting down on the stool beside the operating table. “So tell us what happened.” _____________ A kilometer away Delta’s Comm flashed a bright red, and a soft siren again flared over the barracks.

Dark eyes under a darker cowl watched the young acolyte. There was such confidence there, such a delight for violence, an untempered rage that shone through every pore. It was nauseating, And so the Sith Master reached out a hand and slapped the boy across the left cheek. Not hard, not enough to spin him around or snap his neck, but enough to rattle his jaw and emphasise the point. “Violence does not beget power.” The hand stayed raised, then settled back into the darkness of the cloak. "The Emperor does not need another untempered blade to be used and thrown away. I will not waste my time on such a thing. Power is the threat of violence. And the knowledge of when to apply it. That is your first lesson.” “Now tell me, boy. What you will do with your power.” ((try to draw this post out longer. Give description, and decrease your font size)) The eyes looked up to Fynn and the hand came out again, beckoning him forward. “And you, you are not young, and a dormant power lies within you. What is your story?”

Hands and arms drummed in slowing agony against the dark earth as the sands of Korriban accepted yet another sacrifice to the glory of the Sith. Dark blood bubbled and frothed as it was absorbed into the greedy sand, and when the body was still, Valinor’s eyes turned yet again to the young living acolyte. Showing within them a tinge of an ancient regret. “Is that what you think power is?” The ghostly form of Valinor reached forward a hand and the knife that had been gifted flew to it. Disappearing into the dark fog that surrounded the Sith Master. The gift had been freely given, but being disused, the gift was taken back. The voice carried with it disappointment. “Then you have much to learn. Follow if you wish to learn the lesson that was put before you.” And with that, the Sith Master strode into the open gates, leaving them open should Mike and the remaining three young acolytes wish to follow.

The Sith master’s eyes opened in mock terror, and their voice came in a pitiful moan of mocking dismay. “Oh woe to thee that you were so pitilessly hounded!” The dark eyes narrowed to slits of dark magenta that glimmered in the rising sun of the midmorning. And with the speed of a striking cat the Sith master strode forward and struck the boy across the face with the back of their hand. And when the master spoke, the voice was devoid of emotion. “Were you not strong enough to stand for yourself?” The hand raised as if to strike again then pointed to one of the acolytes, a girl of the same age as Mike who stared up with abject horror towards the Sith Master. “So show us how you will rule. Show us how you would make the galaxy quake in fear.” With a flick of the dark wrist a small knife flipped into Mike’s palm. Its obsidian blade a horrible black and its edges razor sharp. The voice was cruel when it came. “The girl is useless to us, and cannot even touch the force.” The girl shouted in alarm and tried to back away but was trapped by the stone walls of the entrance. “Now show her the mercy you would show as a Sith Lord. Show us the man you would be. I put her fate in your hands.” It was a classic test of the Sith Lords, a judgement of power and a judgement of conscience. Was it true that he was being ordered to kill so quickly? Or was there some other purpose there among the shadows... And Valinor smelled the scent of another, a darker presence from beyond the grave. Their face turned to the distant rocks before flicking back to the young boy. Come forth you who lurk Echoed in Fynns mind. @Fynn Relmis

Within the Bastion the forces of the Sith Training Academy stirred to their morning routines. Acolytes began their morning jogs, while masters met and meditated before they turned to their morning meals. Within the training academy, Lord Valinor the commander of the Felix Legions who ritually guarded the valley of the Dark Lords, strode down the halls towards the vague glimmer of the new arrivals. Valinor carried a darkness with them, as if they were a ghost within a thick fog, so that everywhere they went, a darkness fell upon the room as if the lights had begun to dim. It was in this ghastly form that Valinor came to the entrances of the Bastion of Pelko, the dark eyes within the darkness greeting those few acolytes that had not been admitted the night before. Though there were only four left from last night, a new presence of a young man showed himself. Five then Valinor looked at Mike with little interest before gesturing him to the entrance where the other four sat waiting. “So you seek entrance to our holy academy? What brings you here?” The voice was low and rough as if it was echoing through gravel and carried a dread with it.

Valinor watched as the old apprentice approached. He had very obviously grown in stature and in power, her nose could tell her that. His aura was enticing, powerful, and had grown to the noontide of its power. She watched him as he approached and listened as he talked of his deeds. And she could feel the pride burning like a fever on his forehead. She lifted her hand as he finished and the area fell quiet. “Your power is strong but swift. You burn with power, but it will consume you. You will not see grey upon your head. At least....” Her voice turned soft, kind, and distant. “...You will die beautiful.” She let her hand drop. “But you have made me proud, and you will become a great lord before you stumble. I name thee Darth Mavanger, take these deserters and mould them to your will.” She turned, and with nothing further, walked into the lonely halls of Korriban.

A shuddering breath brought the scent of someone long unlooked for and it brought a dark smile to the hidden lips of Valinor. But when the hidden masquerade looked back upon the small Imperial crew, the smile turned quickly to a frown of disgust. Valinor took a step back and surveyed them. Some stood with fear, others with pride, but in what Valinor could not tell. For how could deserters have pride? Cowardice begot desertion, and if they believed that they would have fan fare for their ‘valiant return to the empire’ they could not have been more wrong. She looked down the long line then raised her hand, stopping all of the idle chatter from troops and deserters alike. She held the hand open, a lightsabre pommel laying unlit across the outstretched palm. The darkness that surrounded the Sith Lord began to grow, like a web shaped by a spider. Sliding across the ground and through the air. And when the voice came it was terrible. Deserters deserve nothing less than death. And those that do not follow my instructions deserve a worse fate. You see the Sith are not a welcoming order. We accept only the Strongest The lightsabre came on, a pale orange blade fighting and sputtering against the darkness. Valinor tossed it up into the air, where it would land at the feet of the crew. The one who survives may join our order Laughter bellowed from the troops surrounding the Unwavering Pursuit, and like a lightswitch being flipped, darkness surrounded the deserters. Leaving them to slaughter each other like gladiators in some ancient arena.

The forces of the Felix legions watched eagerly for any signs of potential resistance from the defecting craft and when none came, most of the soldiers let their disappointment show visibly on their faces. But they kept their weapons ready in case a fight should break out. Valinor strode forward, trailing a darkness that cut through the bright summer day like spilled ink. Boots paused ominously at the edge of the boarding ramp and the voice that echoed from within the darkness boomed through the minds of all. Those that believe themselves competent in the force please line up on the left, those who are not force sensitive please array yourselves before me.

The warships of the Korribani Defense grid were always kept in shape enough to fight, even if their crews took rotational breaks in the relative freedom of Dreshdae’s cold winter nights. However, for the crew of the Unwavering Pursuit, they werelucky enough for the command team to all be on ground. The Admiral, sitting in the chambers of state in Dreshdae, gave a growl of appreciation to the subordinate that brought her the news. “Another defection, another day the rebel alliance falls further apart.” A normal and expected response to the report of a defector, but Lord Valinor had other thoughts. Within a few minutes, a company of the Felix Legion was despised along the docking bay and Valinor herself stood await the crew to disembark.

The Man, purple faced and well tattooed, held the vial up like a talisman. It appeared to be dried blood in a canister of preservative, a crude way of preserving a specimen but not unheard of. Lord Valinor, The leader of the Felix legions, terror embodied, took the vial with a bow of respect. It was not often that the warriors of Kesh brought forth an envoy to the halls of Korriban. And as such, the Sith would treat any requests of theirs in the spirit of ecumenicalism. Even if it was just the request to clone a mighty Lord. _______ Weeks later, in the depths of the medical frigate Xerxes, in orbit around the sand planet, a cloning tube beeped away in a drum beat of noise. Orderlies responded, left their preparations, popped the seal of the tank and slunk off into the darkness. When the great Baron of Kesh would awake, he would find a black tunic, made of expensive silken thread, boots of equally fine leather, and at last a single parang.

The grey black mist of the presence of Lord Valinor seeped into the edges of the arena ring, the tendrils of aether consolidating into they formed into the form of the Sith Lord. The mouth beneath the mask smiled, its voice harsh and full of glee, the orange eyes fixed upon Mordecai. “So you come back to me with the smell of victory.” She strode towards her apprentice and placed her hand upon his shoulder. “You have but few tasks left. Find the Dathomiri Qaela Darksong and offer your services in my name. She will find you a task worthy of the dominion of the Sith. Obey her and demonstrate your worth for the time is fast approaching that you will no longer need me.” The Sith Lord turned and strode silently from the ring.

Orders The Admiral and grand general of the Felix Legions considered her padawan’s request with something akin to a mix of eagerness and bloodlust. Death was all around them now, every millisecond she could feel a life snuffed out in its prime. The Hunger was all consuming. It made her mouth water with every death. “There are Jedi trying to rescue their toy empress on board the glorified bank called Dark Sun. We will make a channel for you and yours. Follow the bloodlust and take some troops with you. Find a Jedi and kill him or her for me. Bring the head and you will find reward.” She put a hand gingerly on his shoulder. Do the Dark Lord proud and he will not forget you. And nor will I.” What next she said was only to him. Take what provisions you need and leave with the troops, some five thousand will be leaving from the hanger in a few minutes. You have my trust. May the force be with you.

A wry smile snaked across sallow cheeks covered in shadows. “The Dark Lord of course. Can you not feel his eminence? His shadow permeates even this far from the bridge.” Valinor laughed. And placed her hand on the shoulders of her apprentice. “I would expect the Jedi to come at us very soon, so I would be wary, follow the lead of those around you. Feel their anticipation. Their anger, their worry.” The hand tightened its grip, as the other swept wide, encompassing all the troopers and pilots who sat or stood in the hanger. “Consume it like a meal. Let their emotions fuel you.” The decking beneath their feet shuddered as the turbolasers began their steady churn.